


Love Between Us

by MysticalShizz



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25074130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticalShizz/pseuds/MysticalShizz
Summary: You (the apprentice), Muriel, and Inanna’s nightly routine. Just a whole lot of domestic happiness.
Relationships: Apprentice/Muriel (The Arcana), Muriel (The Arcana)/Reader, Muriel (The Arcana)/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 137





	Love Between Us

The cross into the forest used to be so intimidating. The looming trees that blot out the sun, the gnarled tree roots that always seem to catch your ankles, the creatures that scurry and skitter underfoot - always in your periphery. While the forest helps to connect you to the earth, and thus your magic, fear always kept you from venturing in alone. Years ago, Asra would guide you through; keeping a hand on you when walking was still new, patiently reteaching you the names and uses of plants, demystifying the shadows and nooks of the forest. It’s been a while since Asra has accompanied you into these woods, for a moment you feel a pang of nostalgia, of homesickness for their presence. 

Shaking away the memories, you take that first step. The forest is less intimidating, and since the defeat of the Devil there is something about the forest that seems inviting, like all of the life here is beckoning you further in, like they know that you belong here. It’s taken months to feel like you do belong here, to feel like you’re coming home instead of just visiting. You speculate that the man you are going home to has something to do with that.

Just the thought of Muriel is a breath of fresh air. There is a fuzzy feeling growing in your chest, filling every dark space with light and warmth. Your fingers tingle as you drag them along a tree branch, it’s impossible to fight the smile growing on your face as you think of him. So gentle, capable of such a great love. There’s a skip to your step as you continue along the familiar path, taking you directly to him. 

You venture further, past the stream flowing from the mountains into Vesuvia, past the clearing holding the memorial to the Heart of the Forest, through hanging branches and patches of flowers (Muriel would point out each kind, and the thought makes you giggly with anticipation). 

By the time you encounter familiar charms and protections, it’s late afternoon. You slow down slightly to catch your breath. Your adventure through the forest has left you sweaty, with branches tangled into your hair and mud caking your feet and ankles. It’s a little funny, as you pause for a moment to remove the twigs, and conjure water from the earth to wash your feet. You feel her presence before you see her: Inanna, racing up from behind, heading directly for you. You spin, just before she knocks you to the forest floor, paws on your shoulders, knocking her snout into your face, her tail wagging frantically. The laugh that bubbles out of you carries throughout the space, and you use the water you had summoned to playfully splash her in the face. She doesn’t mind, opening her mouth to try and bite through the gentle stream of water. 

Muriel comes lumbering out of the thicket, wide-eyed and startled. He takes a moment to stare down at Inanna, still perched on top of you, before looking down at you, still sprawled out and directing a weak line of water at her. His face changes suddenly, from concerned to unbridled joy. Muriel makes his way over to the two of you, sitting on the ground beside you. You have run out of water, so now you are running your hands through Inanna’s thick fur: under her ears, across her chest, down her back. She drops all of her weight down onto you, pushing all of the breath from your lungs with a small “oof”. She seems comfortable, but it’s hard to breathe with her full weight on top of you. Looking over at Muriel, his eyes are crinkled in amusement. One of his hands is trailing through the fur of Inanna’s back, the other burrowed into the dirt. 

When you whine out his name, his attention turns to you. His hand moves from Inanna’s fur, and gently smooths down the hair of your frontal hairline. It’s not what you wanted from him, but the soothing strokes of his hand, callused and warm, make you practically purr in his hands. You stay for a beat, then two, bargaining between the safe domesticity of this moment and the increasing difficulty to breathe. Eventually, your need for air wins out, and you tap twice on Inanna’s side. Immediately she stands up, looking down at you with a gaze that seems to ask if you are alright. Grinning up at her, you run a final hand under her chin, before rolling onto your side to stare at Muriel. 

It’s taken a while for him to be comfortable in this gaze, but even now a light blush colors his cheeks. Quietly, he asks about your day, still brushing the top of your head. His bashfulness is endearing, once again you find yourself wondering why he still views himself as dangerous. It's an impulse that makes you reach up, catching his hand with yours, twisting your fingers together. You bring your tangled hands down, pressing a soft kiss to each of his knuckles. It seems that that is what breaks the camel's back. With a grunt, he gets up to his feet, gently hefting you up with him. You’re giggling at his behavior, but he refuses to look your way. He leads you further into the forest, along the footpath you could travel with your eyes closed at this point. The closer you get to the hut, the safer you feel. The traces of Muriel’s magic seem to call to you, intertwining with your own magic, bringing you back to your earlier sense of bliss. You tighten your grip on Muriel’s hand, and he spares you one questioning glance before continuing to guide you. 

When you reach the hut, it’s early evening. You can hear the crickets in the grass around the hut, the chickens clucking behind, and the slow in and out of Muriel’s breath. You reach out your free hand to bury it into the slight space between Muriel’s belts and his bare skin. His skin is a little rough from the belts chafing his skin, but he’s warm, and solid, and you can’t help but want to get as close as possible to him. At the feeling of your hand on his back, he startles a bit, but as you rub over scar and smooth skin alike, he relaxes (though it wouldn’t look like that to an outsider, but you’ve memorized the hold of his shoulders, the tenseness of his back, and learned to spot what relaxation looks like on his body). 

The three of you enter the hut, dark and slightly chilly. What the door closes it’s impossible to see, but the three of you have done this before and the dance in the dark is a familiar one. Muriel heads to the fireplace to light a fire, you head to the reserve of grain and eggs in the other corner, while Inanna lies on the furs that cover your bed. As the light of a new fire begins filling the room, you find yourself dancing another dance. Cracking an egg, handing the bowl to Muriel to whisk, landing a kiss on his bicep as you head for the water bucket. Scooping up some water, you feel the ghost of Muriel’s hand on your back as he reaches for the pan. The two of you trade places, you take the eggs and pan to the fire, sitting on the floor to begin cooking, Muriel washes the grain and fetches a pot to cook them in. As you cook the eggs, he hangs the grain pot above the crackling fire, before making home behind you. 

It’s silent as you keep the eggs moving, Muriel’s face pressed into your back, his hands rubbing small circles into your hips. Inanna is snoring softly from the other side of the room, and the small smile on your face gives away your joy. When the eggs finish cooking, you place the pan on the dirt floor beside you and take the spoon to stir the grain. When the grain boils, you take it off the fire and place it next to the cooked eggs. With practiced movements, to swirl around in Muriel’s grip to face him. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, with his bracketing your hips. Shifting slightly, you place the bowl and the pan between the two of you. 

You share the spoon between you, one bite for him, then one for you. Once you’re full, you continue to feed him. He would never tell you, but if the hands still on your hips are any indication, Muriel enjoys meals with you. The gentleness with which you feed him, the understanding you showed while breaking down his walls, the patience you have while navigating this relationship. He digs his fingers just slightly into your hips, like the thought of losing you was unbearable to him. 

Inanna appears at your sides, lapping up what was left of the eggs, before turning back to the bed. You meet Muriel’s eyes, both of you so caught up in each other that she had shocked you, before you both burst into a fit of giggles. It takes a moment for your giggling fit to subside, the two of you collapsed in on each other as the last laughter leaves your body. A second in silence, before Muriel untangles himself from you, grabbing the dirty pot and pan and taking them to the dirty dishes bucket to soak until morning. He makes his way back to you, offering a hand to help you from the ground. You’ve never been one to deny that offer, and you both make your way to the bed. 

It’s a challenge to snuggle while Inanna lays in the direct center of the bed. You can’t tangle your legs, so you angle your legs so that Inanna is nestled in your lap while laying on your side so you can still see Muriel. Above her head, the two of you link hands, and bring your foreheads together. You let your eyes slide shut, taking in the radiating feeling of safety and home that rolls off of Muriel in waves. He kneads your hands between his, lulling you into daze. Between the heat he gives off, and the warmth of Inanna in your lap, clinging to consciousness is difficult. He envelops your hands in one of his, using the other to scratch lightly at the base of your skull. His voice is the deep creaking of centuries old trees when he whispers for you to relax, that he will be there when you wake up. Your last conscious thought is telling him that you love him, speech slurred and voice creaky. He repeats the sentiment, and you peacefully fall into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter! @/MysticalShizz


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